


all the ashes in my wake

by ohvictor



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6458740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a familiar dream--he doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. The most vivid part of a past that won’t leave itself behind. He and Cassim haven’t talked about the dreams but Alibaba knows Cassim gets them too, when he wakes sometimes to the bed shaking as Cassim gets up to smoke on the balcony. Another remnant of who they used to be, the smoke. The way the lighter fits into Cassim’s palm perfectly, his arsonist hands. Alibaba’s hand fits there too, though, like a puzzle piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the ashes in my wake

**Author's Note:**

> please be careful with this and please pay attention to these warnings to stay safe! includes descriptions of blood/severe injury (not extremely graphic, mostly just blood), sexual content (not particularly explicit, brief, towards the end), and one reference to self harm as well as multiple references to injury by blade. there is no character death in this fic or in the canon events it references but it does imply a later (canon) character death. includes spoilers through the balbadd arc.
> 
> i might add more to flesh out the au this is based in (it's a reincarnation au obviously, but also a modern/college au), but for now this is a one shot. i listened to the hills by the weeknd and arsonist's lullaby by hozier while writing this, so the title comes from the latter.

_ “Go ahead and kill me,” says Cassim, his voice a piece of shattered glass, his eyes black holes. He’s sucking Alibaba in, a pull that Alibaba can’t, wouldn’t, resist, and Alibaba can see his eyes reflected in Cassim’s unwavering stare. Scared. The sword in his sweaty hands and Cassim’s throat bare, so close, rising and falling as he pants his breaths. And the fire all around, and Cassim is like oil ready to catch, the flames reflected back on his skin and in his eyes, and he’s got Alibaba caught, paralyzed.  _

_ Cassim steps closer and Alibaba’s senses are howling, he can’t focus, and “Kill me,” Cassim says, “I’m telling you to kill me, Alibaba!” Alibaba’s heart is in his throat, pressing on the back of his tongue, and all he can see is the way Cassim’s mouth is screwing up, the desperation that’s always in his eyes, the shallow breaths coming up from his lungs and his throat so close to Amon’s sword, and Cassim always makes like smoke but you can’t cut smoke with a sword and Cassim’s throat is touching the blade and Alibaba can’t move, his limbs are shaking and Cassim is so close, he can’t think-- _

Alibaba jolts awake with Cassim’s name on his lips, and his chest is heaving and he’s covered in sweat but he’s safe. He’s here. He turns his head to confirm that yes, beside him Cassim is sleeping soundly, his back to Alibaba but as the howling in Alibaba’s ears subsides he can hear Cassim’s soft snores. Cassim sleeps like a rock so Alibaba doesn’t bother trying to be quiet as he pulls himself out of bed, shaking limbs and all, and heads into the kitchen to rinse off his face and pour a glass of water. He carries the water to the window and watches the sun peeking up over the horizon as he drinks.

It’s a familiar dream--he doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. The most vivid part of a past that won’t leave itself behind. He and Cassim haven’t talked about the dreams but Alibaba knows Cassim gets them too, when he wakes sometimes to the bed shaking as Cassim gets up to smoke on the balcony. Another remnant of who they used to be, the smoke. The way the lighter fits into Cassim’s palm perfectly, his arsonist hands. Alibaba’s hand fits there too, though, like a puzzle piece.

The water is doing its job, calming Alibaba’s pulse, and he’s overcome with a rush of affection for Cassim, sleeping and unperturbed, so he finishes his water and goes back into the bedroom. The sun has just cleared the horizon and they don’t need to be awake for another hour, but this is a good cause. Probably. Well, Cassim will be grumpy, but Alibaba’s used to that, has had two lifetimes to get used to it.

He scoots back onto the bed on his hands and knees and bends over Cassim’s sleeping face, surveying him. Cassim always wakes up stubbly, which Alibaba finds inexplicably attractive. He looks more at peace when he’s sleeping than he ever does awake. When they were little they’d go to the neighborhood pool and Cassim would float on his back after doing laps, his mouth curled into a content smile as he rested, his eyes, closed, peaceful. He sheds a decade when he sleeps and Alibaba thinks of Cassim’s dreads dripping with pool water, the way he blinked his eyes open to smile cockily at Alibaba. Alibaba could never do as many laps as Cassim could.

“Cassim.”

As expected, there’s no response, so Alibaba leans in close and starts peppering kisses all over Cassim’s face. His forehead, his brows, the tip and sides of his nose, his closed eyelids, his lips, his jaw. Alibaba nuzzles his nose against Cassim’s cheek and kisses right next to his ear. He makes the rounds again, doubling his efforts, and a minute later he feels Cassim stirring, his eyelids flickering as Alibaba kisses the side of his mouth. 

“What’re y’doing,” Cassim mutters, his voice thick with sleep. He cracks his eyes open and Alibaba can feel himself smiling, although he doesn’t mean to.

“Waking you up!”

“What time...”

“It’s seven.”

“Alibaba, you ass,” Cassim mumbles. He reaches up to rub his eyes and Alibaba sits back, watching him. “‘ve got another hour...”

Alibaba doesn’t say anything, just wiggles down the bed so he can lie down next to Cassim and press his face into Cassim’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to explain, not when Cassim never explains it when he wakes Alibaba up after those dreams. With his eyes closed, he can feel the movements of Cassim’s arms as he rubs his eyes and then folds his arms awkwardly over his face. He sighs, and Alibaba feels it louder than he hears it, a soft sound of acceptance.

“You’re such a handful,” Cassim murmurs, and rolls over to face Alibaba, curling himself around him. Alibaba takes hold of the front of Cassim’s shirt, a loose black tee he likes to sleep in, and Cassim winds his arms around Alibaba, tugging him closer. He noses Alibaba’s bangs aside so he can kiss his temple. 

It was never like this before. They never got a chance. Sometimes Alibaba thinks that’s why Cassim never protests in times like this, when Alibaba is vulnerable or intimate and Cassim would rather be doing something else but he lets Alibaba cling and he’s happy to, like he’s making up for a lifetime of missed chances. And he is, although Alibaba would never hold it against him.

In the end, they fall asleep like that, Alibaba warm and safe in Cassim’s arms and Cassim never having fully woken anyway, until the alarm clock blares them both awake an hour later. Cassim shoves Alibaba’s face into the pillow for a head start getting to the bathroom, and Alibaba curses at him sleepily, then lets himself doze again until Cassim comes back in and tugs the pillow out from under his head to swat him with. And it’s like old times again, like fighting atop their garbage heap, and the fear and fire of the dream feels like another life again, as it should.

\--

They don’t talk about it. Cassim knows if he so much as hinted at the dreams Alibaba’s mouth would open up like a dam breaking and he’d tell Cassim everything, every detail that Cassim tries so hard to block out, to not think about. Alibaba’s just  _ like that _ . Like a sponge for other people’s emotions, always willing to take on other people’s burdens. He cries when his friends cry, he cries for Cassim when Cassim can’t muster up tears. Every word out of his mouth is with pure intent. His eyes always search for ways he can help. Even after waking up from the dreams he doesn’t look at Cassim with anger or fear but with a desire to stay close. They don’t talk about it.

Cassim wakes up from a dream and he can’t breathe. His lungs feel like they’re being squeezed tight and somehow his pulse is racing anyway, a frantic drumbeat in his chest that he swears could make the bed shake. It takes a few terrifying seconds of remembering how many limbs he has and how to work his throat and then he manages to suck in a breath and he falls back into his body again, all the pain subsiding. There’s nothing stabbing into his chest and shoulders; his blood isn’t pouring out onto the ground around him. He’s in bed. Alibaba is sleeping next to him. 

It’s enough to ground him in the most basic sense of establishing reality, but his body isn’t there, or rather it’s stuck in between. His heart is thudding in his throat and his hands are shaking and the adrenaline is still surging through him. Anger and defiance and fear and jealousy from the dream bleed through the layers between sleep and waking, and his breathing won’t slow. He clenches his fists at his sides and counts, trying to focus on the numbers. One. Two.  _ There’s so much blood. _ Three.  _ I could never be like that. _ Three.  _ I have to. I want him to see what I  _ **_really_ ** _ am. If he sees my insides on the pavement they’ll surely be black like an oil spill and he’ll see what he’s wasting his time on. _ He loses count. The invasive thoughts are filling his head and he can’t breathe again. The sheets around his legs feel like ropes binding him, chaining him in place. 

“Alibaba,” he rasps, and even through the pounding of his blood in his ears he doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels. There’s no movement from beside him so he tries again, louder. “Alibaba. Wake up.” 

Moving is hard so he waits for Alibaba to sit up on his own. It takes a moment and then Alibaba’s face comes into view, peering down at him sleepily. “Cassim?”

Cassim’s lungs feel like closed fists and he’s covered in sweat but when Alibaba’s eyes are on him all of it seems to fade as his mind forces him to appear natural and calm. His first reaction to Alibaba is always to put up a wall, no matter how much he’s fighting that impulse in this life. 

He misses the chance to answer, and Alibaba’s brow furrows. “Are you okay?”

_ No. I can’t move because I’m afraid there’s a hole through my chest again. I can remember every place the shards of metal stabbed into me and my fingers are shaking with how badly I want to remake those scars. If I move I’ll bleed out onto the bed and these are good sheets, we bought these sheets because this  _ **_means_ ** _ something and I’m already ruining it, I’ve been ruining it since the beginning. My lungs are fine but my mind is convinced I can’t breathe. Sometimes I look at you and I don’t know which you I’m seeing. If I pack any more of these big hard feelings inside my chest I’ll burst. I can’t breathe. I’m ruining everything. _

“Kiss me,” Cassim says, pushing himself up on his elbows. 

Alibaba doesn’t need telling twice, and their lips come together in a confusing mush. Alibaba hums and slides his tongue over Cassim’s bottom lip and Cassim focuses on Alibaba’s faint morning breath smell, a tether to keep himself grounded. He reaches a hand back and smoothes his fingers into Alibaba’s hair, that thick messy bedhead that he’s always found irritatingly endearing, and his brain says  _ Pull it out _ so Cassim kisses Alibaba harder, nudging his tongue into Alibaba’s mouth, sucking in the taste of him and feeling something warm stir in the pit of his stomach, muscling the fear and anger aside.

Against his mouth Cassim can feel Alibaba’s breathing getting quicker. He pulls Alibaba on top of him, one hand fumbling downwards to grab and squeeze Alibaba’s ass the way Alibaba likes, and Alibaba moans, his hips stuttering forward. Cassim grinds up to meet him, rutting shamelessly against Alibaba’s crotch, the warmth he can feel through two pairs of boxers. Alibaba’s gasping against Cassim’s mouth and he’s hard between his legs; he was always eager, but Cassim shoves the  _ always _ out of his head and focuses on friction. Moving his hips. Letting his pulse skyrocket again, on his own terms. 

This late at night there’s no reason to hold out. Alibaba comes with a shaky whine, and Cassim follows a moment later, tossing his head back as his body shakes itself apart and then fits the pieces back together. For a few seconds his mind is blessedly empty, just echoes of pleasure and the bone-deep warmth of Alibaba growing sleepy again on top of him. It’s okay now, Cassim tells himself. Or, it will be.

“Sticky,” Alibaba grumbles, picking his head up and fixing Cassim with a petulant look. 

Cassim laughs. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t ‘pologize. I like waking up to find you desperate for me.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me.”

Alibaba grins and rolls off of Cassim, then climbs out of bed, stripping his dirty boxers off as he stands. Cassim doesn’t move. A moment later, Alibaba tosses a pair of clean boxers at his head. 

“Hey, thanks.”

“Least I can do.” 

Cassim sheds his boxers after using them to wipe up, tossing them in the vague direction of the laundry basket in the corner, and wiggles into the fresh ones as Alibaba slips back into bed. He’s warm at Cassim’s side, heavy and grounding and always there, for better and for worse. Alibaba slings an arm across Cassim’s chest and burrows his face in Cassim’s shoulder, and Cassim finally lets out a breath that doesn’t leave him feeling winded. He listens to the sound of Alibaba’s breaths slowing as he falls asleep, and tries to match the pace. If he can follow Alibaba into sleep like this, maybe he’ll find him again in a nicer dream. 


End file.
